


Strawberries and Cream

by Papillonae



Series: LietPol Week (2018) [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Bad Flirting, Breakfast, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Food, Food Kiss, Innuendo, Learning to Relax, M/M, Marriage, Overworked, Strawberries, Waffles, Whipped Cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 17:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13641030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papillonae/pseuds/Papillonae
Summary: Drabble. Lithuania and Poland in a domestic partnership, making strawberry waffles for breakfast.Written/Revised for LietPol Week 2018 for the Day 1: Domestic prompt.





	Strawberries and Cream

**Author's Note:**

> And so, we begin LietPol Week!! This is the first time I'm participating, and I'm really nervous/excited about it! Day 1 is the "Domestic" theme, and I'm just gonna dive right in!
> 
> Small note about this one: this little fic is... actually EIGHT YEARS OLD! I wrote it back in July 2010 for someone, and I never really let anyone else read it (other than that one person, for... obvious reasons) - but this version has been very heavily edited, so it was almost like writing a whole new fic! And yes, this person and I still love to make and eat strawberry waffles together, to this very day. <3
> 
> Anyway - enjoy! I'm looking forward to all the Lietpol Week submissions this year!

Saturday mornings, for anyone sane, were reserved for sleeping in and stretching out in the expanse of a large, comfortable bed. Mornings like these were more for those who appreciated the glorious sights of nature: the hush of the wind against the grass, the rolling hills of gold outside the window in the summer, the thick scent of flowers in the spring.

Although he was one of those early risers, the whole idea of sleeping in was much too vital for Lithuania to pass up, especially after the most recent all-nighter he’d pulled. Waking up late, well rested, and completely relaxed was something completely foreign to him—something strange and pleasant, especially in the early hours when he woke up and realized he could easily sleep until noon.

The house groaned and creaked to life. From inside the walls tiny things scratched at the paneling and pipes flushed loudly with the sound of water. He extended his arms and legs as far as they could go, squeezing his eyes shut tight before he rolled over into something warm and soft. As he nestled into it, he was met with soft, familiar laughter and fingernails raking gently through his dark brown hair. Lithuania grinned and leaned his head into it, humming himself awake as warm air blew against his ear.

“ _Liiiiiet_ ,” Poland chided in the hush of a whisper, “wake up already, I’m starving!”

The low guttal growling of an empty stomach sounded on cue.

Lithuania opened his eyes, propped himself up in bed, and smoothed out his hair. He looked up at his partner with an apologetic grin. “Sorry,” he laughed, “I must’ve needed that sleep…” 

“I’ll say.” Poland crossed his arms, nodding in agreement. “You’ve been staying up for for _ever_ doing stupid paperwork for your boss. It’s really cutting into your feed-your-husband time, and it’s not cool.”

Lithuania beamed and reached up a hand to ruffle Poland’s shiny blonde hair, and laughed when he made a fuss and smacked his hand away.

“All right,” he decided with a waking strain in his voice, “then let’s go make something to eat.”

Poland gave him a strong look and smirked. “Soooo… you gonna use those strawberries we got to make strawberry waffles like you promised yesterday?” He shifted up to stand on his knees, rustling the pastel floral-printed sheets aside with his legs, half-lidded eyes glowing.

Rolling his eyes, Lithuania replied, “Would I make anything else?”

Poland’s grin grew wide and he grabbed hold of Lithuania’s wrists. “Then come _onnn_! My stomach’s growling!” he growled playfully as he tugged and pulled him up out of bed.

His partner’s overenthusiastic ways of getting him to move caused Lithuania to trip and topple over on top of him. He dragged down the bed sheets he was tangled up in and a peculiar pair of pink woolen socks in his hand: soft, knit with a white pattern lining the top and two soft puffs of white hanging down by thick braided threads at the sides. He was quick to identify the socks; after all they were a gift he’d given many years ago. He was half-surprised that Poland still wore them and not-so-surprised to find that they always wound up buried somewhere in his bed.

He slowly lifted himself off of Poland, unable to register the decidedly wicked gleam in his eyes until Lithuania looked down and realized just how compromising his landing had been. He quickly flushed, apologized profusely (to which a quip was made about how funny his face looked,) and dropped the socks on Poland’s nose.

“Hey!” Poland exclaimed as he and Lithuania untangled themselves from each other, “I’ve been looking everywhere for those! I swear, last week I was like, ‘where the hell are my socks?’ I thought the dryer ate them!”

As Lithuania offered him a hand to help him off the floor, Poland continued his rant: “America told me - that England told him once - that there’s a troll that steals the socks from your laundry for a snack… ugh, imagine if a grody old laundry monster like that ate these cute socks! How awful would that be! Right, Liet?”

Lithuania simply nodded in agreement, whether to the idea of a laundry troll being ‘grody’ or to confirm the cuteness of the socks remained vague.

Poland struggled with getting the socks on his feet as he talked and attempted to drag Lithuania down the stairs into the kitchen. This resulted in many pauses between steps, words, and ungraceful hops. He would have tripped down the stairs if their arms weren’t so steadily linked.

When they walked in Lithuania noticed how the warming heart-shaped waffle iron, a bowl of batter, a pastry bag filled with whipped cream, two large empty plates, and a bowl overflowing with plump red strawberries were ready and waiting on the countertop. He had to rub his eyes to make sure he was seeing things correctly.

“Poland?” he interjected.

Poland spun around on the balls of his heels and pouted upon being interrupted midway through a riveting fantasy about riding on a pony made entirely of laundry. “ _What_?” he grumbled, but softened considerably when he’d realized how his voice came out. Poland looked away and murmured something like an apology before trying again, “I mean, what’s up?”

Finding his smile Lithuania gestured toward the arrangement on the countertop. “Thank you… I’m sorry I made you wait so long… I would’ve taken care of it if you woke me up earlier.”

Poland glanced between the preparations he’d made and the kind look on his partner’s face. He began to laugh in a loud voice, “Oh! That! Haha! I mean, you’re welcome and all that, Liet, but really it was no big deal and you really looked—” 

The fluidity of the arms wrapping across his chest, the gentle tug backward that his feet obeyed without a second thought, and the tenderness in the light embrace was enough to get Poland to stop talking except to lamely finish his sentence, “—like you needed to sleep…”

Lithuania nuzzled his chin on Poland’s shoulder, grinning into his cheek. “I really appreciate it,” he said warmly. Poland laughed quietly and lowered his gaze, as if some combination of the two would keep the telltale warmth from creeping up his face.

At last, Lithuania unwrapped his arms and chuckled, “You want to help?”

Poland somehow brought himself down off his cloud, shrugged off his embarrassment, and replied with a nonchalant, “Yeah, sure.” He leaned against the counter, watching his partner tie on an old kitchen apron and roll up his sleeves.

A devious scheme began to hatch in his brain.

* * *

While Lithuania was busying himself cleaning his hands and cleaning a fruit knife, Poland stole a strawberry from the bowl and inconspicuously took a large bite. Each time Lithuania’s eyes flickered dangerously in his direction— each time he reached into the bowl to cut the strawberries— Poland made sure not to get caught stealing the red fruit, and the moment Lithuania turned back to his task, one more strawberry disappeared.

It wasn’t until he’d gotten through slicing all but one strawberry that Lithuania looked over at Poland, who was smiling innocently with puffed cheeks. A pink trail of juice dripped down his chin. 

“ _Poland_ ,” he sighed, placing the knife beside the strawberry dish as he ladled one spoonful of the goopy batter into the waffle iron. It gave off a deep fizzing noise as he closed the lid. In a rushed flourish, Lithuania took up a napkin and rubbed motherly at his partner’s face as he chewed and swallowed away the evidence. “We can’t have strawberry waffles if you keep eating the strawberries…”

Poland shooed him away, flashing an impish grin up in his direction. With a lick of his lips he defiantly stole the last strawberry. “Chill out Liet,” he said, “we’ve got more than enough strawberries here… you should try one too.”

Before he could decline the offer, the tip of the strawberry in question was already pressed against his lips, tracing and coaxing them open as guided by the expertise of Poland’s delicate fingers.

This gesture— done many times before in their youth with bleeding raspberries, plump young fingers, and a little more brazenness— continued to tease Lithuania until his mouth finally surrendered, opened, and closed down on the fruit. He felt the rough texture of the seeds peel off on his teeth and the cool sweet juice simmering delicately against his tongue. His bright eyes were fixed on Poland as he felt him tug lightly on the leaves. Compliantly he pulled away from the strawberry stub with an ungraceful slurp as the juice ran down the corners of his mouth.

Lithuania lifted a finger to staunch the flow but the grip on his wrist stopped him. “Let me,” Poland insisted, and the warm, unrushed swipe of a soft knuckle caught the flavored tear of juice from falling. As Poland kissed his finger clean with the smallest swipe of his tongue, Lithuania felt his throat go dry. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring so intently until he heard snickering.

“That sure is some face you’re making,” Poland murmured, his grin coyly peeking out from over his fingers.

Lithuania bit back a fit of stuttering and reached for the sugar in the cupboard. He sprinkled some on top of the freshly cut strawberries in the bowl, their scent thick and the taste staining his mouth. As he worked, he was unaware that Poland was still watching him, unable to hold back an admiring smile.

* * *

 

Lithuania nodded toward the iron as it stopped steaming. “I think the first waffle’s done. Why don’t you start another?”

Clicking his teeth, Poland rifled through the silverware drawer and removed a fork. “Whatever you say, Liet,” he chirped as he opened the waffle iron to discover the crispy, golden clover of waffles. He hummed a tune as he removed them, placing them gently on one of the empty plates. “I call dibs on the first waffle,” he declared, grinning as he poured more batter over the iron.

Lithuania only laughed. “Just how many do you plan on having?” he asked.

Poland thought about it. He replied, in a deadpan voice, “All of them. I want all of them, Liet.”

His partner gave him a flat look. “I don’t think our fridge can hold all of the waffles.”

Poland frowned, closed the iron, and wandered back to his plate of waffles. From there his imagination wandered.

“Look, Liet,” he said, tilting a heart-shaped waffle on its side, “these waffles totally look like your house.”

Lithuania did not look up as he began cleaning the countertop, but he chuckled at the strange observation. “No they don’t,” he replied.

“Yeah they do! If you just look at ‘em sideways you’d see—”

The steam stopped rising from the iron, interrupting his train of thought. He resumed his waffle-removing duties and, once the fluffy, crunchy waffle was out, he brought the new plate over to Lithuania with a bit of a frown. “…Yours came out better,” he said after a moment.

Lithuania smiled down at him and gently threaded his fingers through his hair. He suggested, “Have mine, then. I’ll take yours.”

Poland looked up at him, down at the plate currently in his hands, then smirked back up. “Nah,” he said.

With a small smirk, Lithuania’s hand gently ruffled his partner’s hair. “I insist,” he encouraged as Poland swatted it away. “Just decide which plate you want, Po, then we can eat.”

Poland chuckled and pushed the plate into Lithuania’s hands before trotting back to fetch his own.

They fixed their waffles: Lithuania helped himself to a moderate serving of strawberries and large puffs of whipped cream; Poland topped his with a mountain of fruit, a long coil of whipped cream, and a generous drizzling of juice all while singing a tune with the word ‘waffle’ as every other word – a song that made Lithuania laugh softly and join in with his own improvised verses.

They took their seats with an exchanged laugh or two, nothing forced, just as habitual and sincere as if they’d never spent all those years apart. Lithuania cut apart a small honeycomb of waffle and brought the fork to his mouth, only to have another square intercept it. Poland leaned over the table and motioned his fork-full of waffles toward his partner.

“You insisted I have some of your waffle, so I’m gonna have to take you up on that,” he explained with a catlike grin, “but I just decided I want you to have some of mine too. That way we’re even.”

Lithuania rolled his eyes, standing a bit in his chair so that he could inch his waffles toward Poland. He leaned forward a bit too much, resulting in the coating of his partner’s nose and mouth in a smattering of pink-tinged cream.

Poland laughed and licked his lips clean. “You’re such a bad shot, Liet,” he joked, leaning slightly away from the small waffle square on the fork before him. He arched an eyebrow. “Or maybe you like this sort of image?”

Lithuania began to laugh, one of the hardest laughs he’d had all morning, and he shook his head. “Po, please stop making breakfast sexual.”

“I can’t promise that when there’s whipped cream involved. Now come on, let me have a taste.” He closed his eyes and, leaning forward, he ate the waffle square entirely.

Though he felt incredibly silly feeding his partner like this, there was something in the way Poland slowly drew his lips from the silverware that Lithuania found impossible to ignore. But the moment shifted, and he did have to stifle yet another bout of laughter as Poland let out an overdone low moan and a melodramatic, “Oh my _Godddd!_   _Liet_ , it’s _sooo goood_!” Afterwards, he brushed the cream off his nose with his finger, and wiped it off on Lithuania’s nose. This was received with a startled, playful cry of protest.

Poland then leaned forward, guiding his fork. “Alright, your turn,” he announced.

Lithuania obediently rose to meet the waffles and he bit down on them in the same fashion, shying away when his gaze met with those grinning green eyes. Suddenly it felt ridiculously foolish to be fed like this. He shrank back in his seat with burning ears, but couldn’t help smiling at the sweet taste and the light and fluffy scent of sugar at the tip of his nose.

When he looked up he found Poland making a face very similar to the one he used for doting on the horses back at the stables. “Your face—”

“—I know, I know, it looks funny.”

Poland pouted and replied, “Umm no? It was cute… obviously.”

Lithuania blinked a few times, trying to comprehend how eating could look cute and why such a thing would be obvious.

“Now _that_ face is by far the funniest!” Poland had quickly snapped out of his endearing expression and now doubled over with chuckles. 

Lithuania gave him a strange look but he couldn’t hold a straight face for long. By far the contagiousness of Poland’s laughter was rivaled only by America’s hearty guffaw. And, though he gauged faces on a weird scale, he couldn’t help but smile at those little peculiarities that he’d grown to know over the hundreds and thousands of years since they first began living together.

* * *

 

They resumed eating from their own plates as Poland prattled on, providing random and completely left-fielded observations about their friends and neighbors. It was all unimportant drabble of course, even when said using a dramatic voice to make the gossip even juicier. Though their conversations were mostly one-sided, sometimes the things that Poland commented on were amusing enough for the both of them.

Poland skewered the last remaining square of waffle on his plate and offered it to Lithuania, who simply stared at it. “Again?”

He nodded in confirmation and rose from his seat. Poland quickly strode over to the other end of the table, a hand under the waffle to catch the juice dripping down, and he offered it again with much more stability. Before Lithuania could take a bite he teasingly pulled his fork away.

“This time, close your eyes,” he said with a playful smirk. When he was asked why, Poland simply replied, “Just do it.”

Lithuania uncertainly closed his eyes, lips parted in anticipation. He heard Poland ask, “Are you ready?” 

He nodded. 

“You’re not peeking, are you?”

This drew another laugh from him. “I’m not peeking.”

“Good. Don’t open your eyes until I tell you to.”

“Alright.”

The waffles were pressed to his lips and Lithuania ate them accordingly. By the time he’d finished swallowing he noticed a fragrant breath of air on his cheeks. Lithuania flinched only slightly when he felt a familiar pressure slowly crawling onto his lap.

“Poland?” he asked, and he was answered with more sweetness pressed against his lips.

It didn’t occur to him until he’d felt the warmth behind it, the thin fingers sliding up his cheek, and the slight backward tilt of his chair that he wasn’t being fed any more waffles. 

Lithuania went dizzy with the color rushing to his cheeks once he’d made the connection. The sugariness that frosted their lips made him more eager to kiss him back several times in succession. He felt weak, warm, and... absolutely silly. He allowed his hands to wander up Poland’s back, pulling him closer – an action that drew a small, surprised laugh from his partner. They smiled, lips pressed together, tongues gently tasting the traces of strawberry and whipped cream.

All this time he’d spent knee-deep in paperwork and trying to stay financially stable, he suddenly began to wonder how he could miss the little things like socks in his bed, the smells of strawberries, how sideways hearts _most definitely_ resembled his house, and what muscles in his face were strained and teased for making him look funny. All these things he missed that Poland picked up on… they were all so simple, so nice...

When they’d finally parted for breath, Lithuania’s eyes fluttered open. He found Poland looking down at his hands, red-faced, smiling as if he were very pleased with himself. They met each other eye to eye, fondly regarding that glint of contentment they saw in each other. Maybe that was the reason why Poland had been attempting to help out a lot lately, now that he thought about it. He’d been telling him to relax more, something that was admittedly hard to do with the world surrounding them as crazy as it was, but now that it was just the two of them sharing breakfast, laughing as they had done back under blue skies and golden fields, it was a lot easier to believe that maybe everything didn’t have to be so hard.

Maybe (perish the thought,) he had been taking everything a little too seriously.

He didn’t mean to read too deep into the matter. Luckily a small bout of laughter interrupted his train of thought. Poland was grinning like an idiot as he chimed in. “Not gonna lie, you taste like strawberries.”

The observation was a welcome non-sequitir, even if it made Lithuania a bit flustered. “Well,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his head with embarrassment, “you taste like cream.”

Another series of snickers escaped and Poland soon found himself linking his arms around Lithuania’s neck, brushing noses with him. “It’s a sign, Liet,” he smirked, rocking him back and forth, “you complete me.”

Lithuania shook his head. “I think you meant you ‘compliment’ me.”

But Poland was insistent, “No, I meant you _complete_ me – you can’t have strawberries without cream.”

“Well… they are definitely better together,” Lithuania quietly agreed with a smile. Poland’s grin only grew and he mussed up Lithuania’s hair with a light-hearted, silly laugh, carefully sliding out of his lap. “Finish your waffles, Liet, before I eat them,” he teased.

Lithuania nodded, tilting his head slightly at a strawberry that had fallen off his fork. 

“Hey Poland,” he began without thinking on it too much, pointing at it, “this strawberry kind of looks like my house.”

Poland scrunched his face up as he tried to see it, fixing his eyes on the small strawberry slice before fluffing up Lithuania’s hair again out of spite. “You’re such a dork sometimes,” he laughed.

And as he ate the strawberry and looked up at the redness still blooming on Poland’s cheeks, Lithuania had to confess that, while he could be a bit of an oddball at times, there were a few moments where his partner had his moments of genius.

Strawberry waffles were definitely one of his better ideas, he decided.


End file.
